


Comfortably Numb

by E_Baker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x23, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Destiel - Freeform, Drinking, Gen, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Post-Season/Series 12, Sad, Sad Dean, Season Finale, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Songfic, pink floyd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 10:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Baker/pseuds/E_Baker
Summary: Hopping on the Season 12 finale bandwagon. Here's my post-finale angst mess based on the song 'Comfortably Numb' by Pink Floyd.Listen to song whilst reading for additional angst and feels.





	Comfortably Numb

Dean fell harshly to his knees, the gravel and dirt digging deeply through his jeans and rubbing against his knees. He knelt fully now, staring down at Castiel’s body before him.

Numb.

That’s all he felt, with every fiber of his being. He reached a hand out towards the fallen angel, but dropped it back into his lap.

Not yet.

He thought, gripping at his thighs. Not now, it’s not right. His best friend, his angel, wasn’t dead- he was sure of it. 

The notion of hope abandoned him faster than the speed of light. It felt as if it was slipping through every pore of his body, his soul. It was as if fate had waited for this moment to coax the sky into releasing soft drops of rain. The scent of petrichor lifted into the air around them as more droplets fell upon the rough earthen terrain. 

Dean’s head hung low, but his eyes never strayed from Castiel’s still form. He rubbed the palm of his hand across his face to the side of his head before dropping it back down at his side. The feeling of wet made itself apparent across his hand. The sound of someone approaching him was heard, but was quickly removed as the noise of roaring waves and static crashed in his ears. The hunter’s body wracked with sobs, and he finally let himself go.

He screamed, and screamed, a deep broken sound, clutching at the lapels of Castiel’s trench-coat. Dean shook the body vigorously, his grip tightening and knuckles whitening. The feeling of hands grasping at his shoulders and pulling him away only spurred more shouting and fighting back so relentlessly. He shouted and swore, a litany of cuss words and pleads, begging to a simple carcass deaf to his calls.

Numb.

Sam wrapped his arms around his older brother and pulled him away, shouting at him, something along the lines of “We have to go”, but Dean didn’t know, there was no sound beside his blood cascading within his ears; akin to a war drum.

* * *

Dean sat in the bunker, red eyed and rigid. He was unsure of how long he had sat, glued to one of the many chairs in the war room. Bottles of Jack Daniel’s littered the table, books strewn haphazardly alongside them. Sam never bothered Dean, he did not approve of the alcoholism, but he knew not to cross his brothers path.

Sam had shed his tears, he was of course heartbroken, but he couldn’t imagine or begin to even fathom how his brother felt. Sam was busy with the Nephilim, and Mary was a whole other story. Dean, on the other hand, had surpassed mourning towards something deep, dark, and broken. Mutilated.

The more Dean drank, the easier the world seemed, the hazier it started to become, he felt himself dwindling into a void of numbness.

* * *

Weeks passed, and Dean still sat. He raised only for booze, food, and the bathroom. Nothing more, nothing less. Sleep was sought at the table, face down in a pile of vomit. His facial hair had grown significantly, reaching almost to the base of his neck. Eyes always red, dark, hooded. Hair unkempt, matted, knotted. Shirt and jeans stained, spilled upon.

Sam had found a way to reach Mary alongside the help of Jack- the Nephillim child, or man in this case. The young man always asked a lot of questions, and Sam always struggled to produce an answer, for he knew deep down- but was never entirely sure.

“He’s just Numb.” Sam had said to Jack one day.

* * *

A few months passed, and Dean was more than worse for wear. Jack had used his growing power to heal the man, but only physically. Sam woke up everyday wondering if his older brother had made it through the night. He feared yet awaited the day that he woke up and found his brother strung up from the balcony within the building, or slumped at the table with his brains splattered in a Rorschach test fashion.

Jack entered Sam’s room one day, holding on to a dirty old coat.

“Where did you find that?” Sam questioned, eyes growing wide and weary.

Jack shrugged, “It was under one of the pillows in one of the rooms.”

Sam shuddered, Dean had abandoned his room weeks ago. He couldn’t bare to stay in his room, “You should put that back.”

“Was this Castiel’s?” He asked.

“Yes.” Sam replied quietly.

Jack held it out from himself and eyed it with child-like curiosity, “Sam, why does it glow blue?”

Sam froze, and slowly sat up from his bed, “Pardon?”

“Why does it glow blue?”

A smile whispered across Sam’s face, and he stood up reaching for the coat. He eyed up up, not seeing anything different about it. He looked at Jack before closing his bed room door.

* * *

Dean sat up slowly from the table, piss wasted as per the usual and swaying like an old tree in gale force winds. He turned around and gripped the back of his chair, stabilizing himself. He then looked up and focused at the figures before him. They seemed to drift in and out of focus.

“Wha’hts goin’ o’hn,” The old hunter slurred, rubbing a hand down his face. Some of the first words he had spoken in a long time.

Sam walked up to Dean and threw a cup of cold water on his face, shocking him. 

“Wha’ th’ FUCK!” Dean shouted, rubbing his eyes.

Sam shook his head, “Dean, there is someone here to speak with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, sending the world out of focus again, “I don’ want t’ speak to th’ little sh-h-it. Or mom.” 

“Dean.” A deep voice grizzled from behind Sam.

The hunter froze, his body becoming even more numb than the alcohol had ever offered him. His eyes focused immediately and Castiel stood before him, his eyes sad and face soft. He appeared ever so slightly younger than he did when he died, how he looked when they first met- all those years ago.

“How…” Dean trailed off, shook sober by the angel in front of him. He didn’t want an answer, he didn’t care for one. The Winchester collided into Cas, gripping him with unrelenting force. The angel grasped him back, and all felt well.

Dean breathed him in.

He was, and had become, comfortably numb.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to this song earlier piss wasted and was pretty sad about the finale all over again.
> 
> This fic was also posted to my tumblr: https://paran0rmal--supernatural.tumblr.com/
> 
> Un Beta'd, not looking for crit on this.


End file.
